


bromeliad anthropology

by silentwalrus



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Costa Rica, F/M, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shenanigans, lowkey exhibitionism from our two intrepid explorers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentwalrus/pseuds/silentwalrus
Summary: The gang goes on vacation, aka Steve Rogers Puts His Face In Natasha’s Georgia O’Keeffe Painting.





	bromeliad anthropology

**Author's Note:**

> This is Swing Left donations ficlet number one! Thank you chibisquirt for donating!!

Vacation is Sam’s idea, but Costa Rica is Bucky’s. After Sam declares that they must all take a minimum of two weeks time off within the next month or suffer the consequences, Bucky launches into a research campaign that culminates in four plane tickets carefully laid out on their kitchen table one morning. “San Juan,” Natasha says through her mouthful of Lucky Charms, picking one up. “Nice.”

Steve doesn’t know enough about Costa Rica to have any pre-formed opinions, but he goes with the vague assumption that a couple of weeks at the beach can’t be too bad. Then they get there, to their rented tropical cabin a good three hours’ drive from the airport, and Bucky breaks out the action plan. 

“That way is the swimming hole with the waterfall. Sam, this area has over 500 species of birds. Here’s a spotting guide. I,” Bucky says, “Am going to be putting mud on my face until 1600. That’s when we meet back here. I have a place reserved for dinner.”

“Mud?” Steve says bemusedly. Natasha is already looking interestedly in the direction Bucky pointed out as containing a swimming hole. 

“Volcano mud,” Bucky confirms. “Aaaaaall over my face. If you’re good I’ll show you pictures.”

“If I’m  _ good,” _ Steve starts, but Natasha’s already tugging at his arm. “Come on, Steve, we’ve got a hole to jump into.”

The hole is pretty goddamn incredible. Some enterprising soul had long ago attached a thick rope to a massive tree overhanging the pool under the river waterfall, and Steve and Natasha take turns swinging out on it and dropping in, occasionally giving a half-startled whoop of sheer pleasure. 

By 1600 Steve and Natasha are wet, exuberant and ravenous. Sam returns from his bird hike with a look on his face that says there are going to be a lot of bird photos in their group chat very soon. Bucky collects the three of them with his arm wrapped in a floral scarf, looking suspiciously refreshed for someone who was rubbing mud all over his face for the better part of the day. Steve decides not to ask. Not much time to, either, with Bucky whisking them along to a restaurant full of beautiful glass lights, located right on the edge of the river.

This is just the start. It turns out Bucky picked Costa Rica because it’s got enough birds for Sam, mud for Bucky, and adrenaline opportunities for Natasha and Steve that none of them go feral and start making their own entertainment. They go ziplining, and caldera hiking, and whitewater rafting in little inflatable boats that are essentially giant yellow machines for launching Steve into the water. They eat insane quantities of seafood and churros. Steve can’t stop marveling at how little he wants to find something tall to leap off of. 

By the end of the first week Natasha’s shoulders have started to peel, her arms and nose burned pink. Bucky is permanently attached to his arm scarf and sun hat and Sam has taken to smiling around at everything and nothing at all. Then Bucky takes them to something called the Tabacon Grand Spa Thermal Resort. 

It’s… a park, but with hot springs, and the water has been diverted through a series of man-made pools. They go after dark, which Bucky insists on; Steve does have to admit it’s incredibly charming, with lights strung up here and there among the trees and everything planted with lush vegetation. Once they’ve got their swimsuits on Bucky directs them to a secluded basin with a small waterfall feeding water in a steady stream, and while the place isn’t exactly crowded it’s unmistakably occupied, full of the murmur of voices and strangers’ laughter floating through the trees. 

The four of them sit themselves into the water. Certain areas of the pool are cement and some are gravel, and Steve cautiously feels out the difference with his toes. Natasha is similarly exploring the vegetation growing around the edges. Sam and Bucky, on the other hand, have planted themselves belly up with their heads against the side of the pool and look like they’ve decided to become one with the environment. 

“This is nice,” Steve ventures, mostly to Natasha. 

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Bucky says dreamily. The hot spring burbles past them, the water carrying the scent of wet earth and tropical flowers through the warm, humid air. Sam looks like he’s well on his way to becoming a permanent fixture of the basin. It’s idyllic. There’s not a single thing wrong with the universe, with this place, with this moment. 

Natasha looks at Steve. “You wanna go fuck in the bushes?” 

“Yes,” Steve says fervently. 

“If you get arrested,” Sam says without opening his eyes, “we will not come bail you out. In fact we never even knew you.” 

“Ha,” Natasha says. “Bail is for pussies who don’t know how to break out of a cell. Come on, Steve. There’s a big bunch of trees right over there.” 

“Yes ma’am,” says Steve, levering himself out of the water.

They traipse around in the dark, going from clump to clump of trees and discarding each one as being just slightly  _ too  _ close to a public decency violation. It’s like the landscape designers  _ purposefully  _ wanted the area to be inhospitable to furtive illicit superhero sex. Some folk just have no consideration for other people. 

Eventually, Natasha looks up at the central building of the hot spring facility. “The roof,” she declares. 

“The roof,” Steve agrees, and follows her in discreetly scaling the back of the building. 

The roof is nubbly with some kind of stucco coating that feels like gravel under Steve’s bare feet. They circle the perimeter once, satisfying themselves that they’re alone and unlikely to be interrupted, and then end up back in the middle, away from the edges. Steve turns to face Natasha and makes a grand gesture of operatic commencement.  

Natasha whips her sports top off without hesitation. Steve kind of wishes she’d worn one of her fancy swimsuits - unwrapping is half the fun - but then again, now her breasts are right there. They shuck their shorts off at the same time, and Natasha gives Steve a friendly grope where he’s already halfway to attention. All the erectile difficulties he had in his old body had been reversed with a vengeance, which can get annoying when it hardly takes a stiff breeze to give him a stiffy, but on the other hand, when it’s time to perform he’s always at full mast, no waiting. And Natasha appreciates efficiency. 

“How do you want me?” Steve asks.

Natasha puts her hands on her hips and looks around the roof. “I am not lying down on this,” she decides. “There’s probably nineteen different kinds of bird crap all over.” 

“Stand-up comedy?” Steve offers. 

“Stand-up comedy,” Natasha agrees, and grabs his shoulders to plant a foot on his thigh. Stand-up comedy is their shorthand for their most common form of mission sex: Steve braces himself, Natasha climbs up his body and sits on his shoulders, and Steve gets to faceplant directly into her. No muss, no fuss, just efficiency in cramped quarters and Steve’s ability to undo a zipper with his teeth. 

And comedy, apparently. Something about getting eaten out always sends Natasha into a fit of the giggles. 

She gets herself situated, clamping her legs around his shoulders as he balances her ass in his palms. There’s no zipper this time, just Natasha warm and wet and open to him, her corded thighs wrapped tight around his head. “Tally ho, captain,” she says, already a little breathless, and Steve grins. He tally hoes. 

Natasha’s breath catches immediately, because Steve does not do slow, and all of her reactions just spur him to go harder. The giggling starts up immediately, almost silent; her laughter rarely gets loud and never in a situation where it might get them compromised, but it runs through her whole body and like this he can feel everything, pressed so close against him. Her hands dig into his hair in rough strokes, tightening occasionally for balance. 

He loves it when she laughs. Steve surfaces briefly. “If I blow a raspberry down here,” he says, “would that feel good, do you think?” 

Natasha gives one loud witch cackle, teetering sharply on his shoulders. “If you try, I’m not responsible if I accidentally twist off your head.”

“Many have tried, few have succeeded,” Steve says gravely, before diving back in. 

Natasha curls over his him, gasping through more quiet laughter. Steve doesn’t go for the raspberry - not now, anyway. Maybe later when they have a bed, and Bucky and Sam are there to witness Natasha shrieking and doing her best to remove Steve’s head from his shoulders using only her thighs. That sounds like a damn good time. Steve closes his eyes and delves in deeper, stroking his tongue harder, going for more. 

It never takes Natasha long to come when they’re out and about like this, doing something stupid on a roof or in a truck or locked in a mop closet. Never takes Steve long, either: between the sensitivity and the thrill of Natasha, his mouth, on her, outdoors, he can feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine, pooling down in his balls. He’s usually doing this in his reinforced cup and uniform pants - both of which are mercifully machine-washable - but apparently the warm wet night is enough for his dick because as Natasha’s nails dig into his scalp he shudders along with her, coming hard, adding the final crowning touch to this rooftop Pollock painting of semen and bird shit.

The thought makes him burst out laughing into Natasha’s sex, which makes her squeak and jerk hard enough to do something perilous to his upper spine. She’s laughing too, though, like she knows exactly what he was thinking, folding it into whatever it is she usually laughs about when they’re doing this. They ease up on each other, untangling, grinning as they start the de-escalation process one limb at a time. 

Steve wipes his mouth on his shoulder as he helps her climb off, carefully transferring their grips on each other until Natasha’s safely back on the ground. She just leans against him for a while, her forehead konked against his left pectoral, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders while they get their breath back. It’s nice. The jungle night around them smells a little more like jizz now than tropical flowers, but hey, Steve isn’t complaining. 

The floodlights flash on. Natasha and Steve both levitate instantly, springing apart, hitting the ground already running. They reach the edge of the roof just as there’s an enraged shout behind them. Steve grabs Natasha around the waist, she grabs onto his neck, and they vault over the lip and into the darkness. 

They land among the trees, sprinting through the shrubbery like a couple of nudist gazelle. There’s some distant yelling going on, but it recedes behind them as the weave further into the park, desperately avoiding the occasional bystander walking down the little stone paths. Dirt squishes between Steve’s toes as he hangs a right and then a left and then a right again through the bushes, Natasha’s pale limbs pumping alongside him. 

They finally skid to a halt among a marginally more dense cluster of trees. “What now?” Steve whispers. Adrenaline’s back in him, zipping up and down his spine. Who needs afterglow?  

“We find Bucky and Sam,” Natasha whispers back. “Nothing ever happened. If anybody comes around, nobody had sex and we’re not naked.”

Finding their way back is not that difficult, though does take a little longer considering they have to leap vigorously behind the nearest tree anytime anyone walks by. Steve has to repeatedly cup his hands over his dick to prevent the damn thing from swinging all over the place. A number of people in the resort employee uniforms are moving through the park, seemingly looking for something. When they pass Natasha and Steve keep their heads down and do their best impressions of inanimate foliage. 

They make it back to base without being made, sidling furtively through the bushes; Steve’s just decided to keep his hands over his crotch while Natasha soldiers on ahead, making no effort to conceal her intimates from the evening breeze. They slip hastily back into the pool, where Sam and Bucky appear to have moved not at all. Steve and Natasha sink under the water, doing damn good impressions of fully clothed legitimate bathers who were absolutely not doing any horizontal tangoes in, on, around or about any of the facilities nearby. 

Bucky opens one eye, then another. “Are you  _ naked?”  _

“Nope,” says Steve. 

“Completely,” says Natasha. 

_ “Why  _ are you naked,” Sam says, now opening his eyes too. Whatever relaxation he got from his soaking interval clearly wasn’t enough, judging by his expression. 

“Our position was compromised,” Steve says. 

“Extraction got expedited,” Natasha continues. 

“Are we about to get kicked out of here?” Bucky demands.

“Only if they catch us,” Natasha says. 

“Where the hell did you even leave your bathing suits,” Sam says. 

“Changing room roof,” Steve admits.

“If you get me kicked out of here, I am never having sex with any of you ever again,” Bucky warns.

“Hey!” Sam says. “You can’t cut me off just because Adam and Eve over here couldn’t keep it in their swimsuits!”

“Eve wasn’t no sunburned redhead and there’s no fig leaf in the world big enough for  _ that,”   _ Bucky says, jerking his head at Steve’s crotch. “You’re right though. This sex ban will apply only to anybody who doesn’t find something to cover their asses with in the next five minutes.”

Natasha looks thoughtfully out at the plants. “I bet if we rub in enough dirt, it can pass for a swimsuit in this lighting,” she says.

“Oh my god,  _ no,” _ Sam says. “Then  _ I  _ won’t have sex with either of you ever again. Go steal somebody’s towel like normal people.”

“Well, if you insist,” Steve says, and offers Natasha a hand as the two of them clamber back out of the pool. 

“Remember, if we hear sirens, we don’t know either of you sex criminals,” Bucky warns, pointing at both of them. “Though if you end up having to call the American Embassy you better make sure somebody’s filming first.”

_ “Do not get all three Captain Americas deported,”  _ Sam threatens after them, much more directly, as Natasha drags Steve back into the trees with her laugh trailing behind her. 


End file.
